


Lunch Break

by itemfinder



Category: Common Law
Genre: Banter, M/M, Sandwiches, Tide pens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itemfinder/pseuds/itemfinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I didn't make you do anything! You're the one all worried about my pants."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lunch Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hecate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hecate/gifts).



"I believe in stopping work and eating lunch."  
  
                                        -- L'Wren Scott  
 _Costume Designer_

  
  


Travis's desktop was temporarily clear from its usual clutter — most of which was now on the floor near his desk, or carefully sprawling over into Wes's space. He had laid down a spread of paper towels and was most of the way through constructing a meatball sandwich. A sub roll, meatballs, a little extra sauce, cheese, and a gentle sprinkle of basil. Wes was idly clicking through a few news blogs, not really looking for anything in particular.

"You know," Travis said, carefully pressing the bread flat, "I'm pretty sure the food is the best thing about dating you."

"Okay, first: no, it isn't." Wes didn't even bother looking away from his monitor. "And second: we agreed we wouldn't talk about that here."

"M'jusayin," Travis said through a mouthful of bread, and gestured with his free hand. At Wes' wince, he decided to swallow before continuing. "It's a serious benefit. Along with all the stuff you keep telling me I can't talk about at work. Seriously, Jonelle tells everybody we're probably having angry sex all the time and—"

"Travis! I do not actually care what your ex-girlfriends have to say about what we do in our off-hours, and I don't feel like this is the right place to talk about our relationship." For all of his talk, Wes didn't really seem that angry, just rolling his eyes and continuing to scroll.

"Yeah, yeah, work-appropriate, whatever." They both lapsed into silence for the time it took Travis to finish his sandwich and start poking at the salad that had been packed with it. "So do I really have to eat this?"

Wes glanced over, clearly amused by the reluctant way Travis was pushing around the lettuce. "Only if you want me to keep making your lunch."

With a grimace, Travis stabbed his fork into the container a few times and started munching, albeit with nowhere near as much enthusiasm as he'd had when eating the sandwich.

Wes pulled out a sandwich of his own — cold cuts, with a variety of veggies and some honey mustard — as well as another salad container. "Besides, you said you liked the blue cheese dressing."

"I said it was better than that vinaigrette stuff you tried last week," Travis corrected, trying to see how much he could get to stay on his fork at once. "I'd rather have another sandwich."

"I'd rather we both live past retirement," Wes said, using his fork to stir up the dressing.

"Okay, okay," Travis said, shaking his head, "I get it, I'll never watch Man v. Food again."

"It's important to have variety in your diet," Wes insisted. "The show has nothing to do with it."

Travis gave Wes a skeptical look. "You started in on the salad thing after the Puffy Taco episode."

"I started in on the 'salad thing'," Wes said, adding a single-handed finger quote, "after you tried to _reenact_ the Puffy Taco episode _in our living room_."

"They were really good tacos," Travis said, closing his eyes in memory.

"That is not what you said after you ate eighteen of them," Wes said. "You said, and I quote, 'I am never eating a taco again. I think I'm gonna throw up.'"

"You can't hold what a man says after eighteen puffy tacos against him." Travis grinned, tossing his balled-up paper towels in Wes's direction. "Besides, I didn't throw up either. And you definitely couldn't have eaten eighteen of them."

Wes caught the paper towel and gave Travis a dirty look, carefully dropping it into his trash can. "I wouldn't _want_ to eat eighteen of them, especially not all at once."

"If you say so." Having finished most of the salad, Travis pressed the lid back on the container and started grabbing stuff off the floor to spread back across his desk. He stopped when he realized he'd gotten a smear of tomato sauce on the stapler from a missed smear on his hand. He frowned at his hand for a moment before reaching over to grab the hand sanitizer off of Wes's desk. "Hey, let's go out tonight,"

"Don't touch that." Wes took the bottle and stuck it in his drawer before giving Travis a confused look. "What? Out?"

"Yeah, like that Otomisan place or something." Travis shrugged, rubbing his hands on his pants. "You really can't complain about me ruining all my clothes if you won't let me keep my hands clean."

"Oh, what, you did _not_ just wipe your hands on your pants. There are tissues _right here_!" Wes said, brandishing the box as proof.

Travis shook his head. "Those things disintegrate if you try to use them for anything other than sneezing."

Wes pulled open a drawer to get a Tide pen and held it out to Travis.

"Seriously?" Travis asked with a laugh.

"Seriously." Wes pushed the pen at Travis. "You can't just leave it like that, it'll stain."

Travis took it and pulled off the cap, shaking it a little and then warily dabbing at his pants leg.

"Oh, for— Stop." Setting down his sandwich, Wes got up to go around to where Travis was sitting. "Stop that, let me." He grabbed the pen out of Travis's hand and started pressing it into the stain, much more firmly.

"Wow, Wes," Travis said, widening his eyes and trying not to grin. "I'm not sure this is the right place for that kind of thing."

Wes pushed the pen into Travis's leg with more enthusiasm than was actually necessary. "Hah hah, you're very funny. Stay still."

"If you'll stop trying to poke a hole in my leg, maybe!" Travis made a grab for the pen. "Here, give it, I can finish."

"No, you can't," Wes said, punctuating it with one last jab. "I'm almost done anyway. Hand me a tissue."

"Great, I'm just in time," Captain Sutton said as he walked up.

Wes nearly dropped the pen — and _did_ drop the tissues — having just patted at the stain once, and stood immediately. "Captain. Hey, we were just—"

"I can't believe it," Travis said, pulling at his pants leg, "it looks like it actually worked."

"— that," Wes finished, gesturing at Travis in general.

"Glad to hear it," Sutton said. "Look, boys, about the Easterman case..."

Looking up from the marvel of modern fabric cleaning, Travis said, "Yeah, we were gonna head over to talk to the sister now. Just finishing off lunch."

"Excellent. Keep me posted." Sutton nodded to each of them and headed off in the other direction.

Wes, seated back at his desk, shook his head. "I cannot believe you made me do that."

" _I_ made you do it?" Travis repeated, incredulous. "I didn't make you do anything! You're the one all worried about my pants."

"Which you should be worried about, too." Wes packed up the last of his lunch and pulled out his holster.

"I dunno, I think you pretty much have it covered," Travis said, grabbing the tissue Wes had dropped and using it to wipe off his stapler. "Seriously, though, Otomisan tonight. We can split a tempura order."

"Alright, fine," Wes agreed. "Let's go get this over with."

Standing, Travis gestured Wes ahead. "After you."


End file.
